


Pick Fights

by taylor_tut



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Whump, Gen, Hank Anderson & Connor Friendship, Hurt Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Protective Hank Anderson, Sick Character, Sick Connor, Sickfic, Worried Hank Anderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-14 21:54:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15398319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: Connor picks a fight with Gavin and is suspended from work. Hank lets him stay on his couch, and isn't too worried about it--until he finds Connor overheating and in pain at 2:30 in the morning.





	Pick Fights

It’s late, but happy birthday to quietnocture! You’re awesome and here’s a DBH fic for you! My last working brain cell wrote this. I’m very tired. 

“Connor, Reed! Knock it off!” Fowler shouted loudly enough to startle half the office. Hank glanced up from his work and saw that Fowler was pulling them apart from what looked like a fight. “Detective Reed, go back to your desk,” he commanded, “NOW.” Gavin took one more aggressive half step toward Connor before walking away, fixing his coat from the tussle. “Connor, go home. You’re suspended.” 

Connor looked truly humiliated. “I apologize for the disturbance, and it won’t happen again--”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Fowler dismissed. “I know Gavin fucks with you; don’t think I don’t see that. But you can’t pick fights.”

Connor’s LED cycled red, but he nodded and went straight to his desk to shut down his computer and leave. 

“What the fuck even happened back there?” Hank asked. It was clear from Connor’s face that he didn’t want to talk about it, but his LED was blue again, so now was the time to push. “All I saw was Reed giving you shit, but that’s what he always does.”

Connor had spilled coffee--not on him, but near his desk, and Gavin had taken it as a personal affront even after Connor had apologized and insisted it was an accident. 

“That’s all that happened,” Connor said, running a hand down his face tiredly. Yellow, blue, yellow. The kid had been working pretty hard lately, not taking nearly as many breaks as his Cyberlife manual said he needed, and he looked worse for wear because of it. Despite knowing that Connor genuinely enjoyed irritating Gavin and to spill his coffee would not be an entirely unheard of intentional annoyance, the desperation in Connor’s face told Hank it wasn’t on purpose. 

“I’m leaving,” Connor announced quietly, but a wave of static filled his vision when he stood up from crouching to pack his bag, and he nearly lost his balance. He caught himself heavily on the side of the table and winced.

Hank raised an eyebrow. “What’s with you today?” he asked. 

“Nothing,” Connor replied irritably. “I simply stood up too fast.”

“No, that’s not it,” Hank continued, his suspicion growing with every moment that he studied Connor up and down with his eyes. “It’s your mood, too. You never let Gavin get under your skin like that. You LIKE bothering Gavin.” 

Connor huffed. “I felt threatened, and I reacted,” he bit. Under Hank’s patient gaze, he deflated. “It was stupid, and it was probably a program bug. I’m going to run a diagnostic tonight. I’m fine, really. I’d just like to go, now.” 

Hank reached into the pocket of his coat for his keys and tossed them to Connor. He expected him to catch them--the kid could catch a quarter between his fingers, for God’s sake--but instead they just bounced off his chest and hit the ground, where he stared at them confusedly. 

“Go to my place,” Hank instructed. “Relax a bit; play with Sumo. You’ll be more comfortable.”

“Hank, that’s not necessary--”

“No arguing, kid. I can tell you’re not feelin’ your best. This way, I’ll be there tonight if you need anything.” 

Connor nodded, giving in easily, and picked up Hank’s keys, slowly this time to prevent himself from getting dizzy. People stared at him on his way out, but he paid them no mind, refusing even to acknowledge the few kind officers who told him to have a good day. Hank had never seen Connor in such a weird mood. Kid became more human every day. 

 

When Hank got home, after skipping the bar, he thought it was worth noting, the first thing he noticed was that Connor had parked like absolute shit. He’d never driven before, so that was understandable, but seeing as Hank preferred to only flash his badge to get out of tickets he deserved, he took the keys off their ring and started up the car. 

The second thing he noticed was that the heat had been cranked to full blast, which Hank himself almost never used and certainly hadn’t on the drive to work that morning, since the weather had been pretty mild all week, so he could deduce that Connor had turned on the heat for his own comfort. 

After parking reasonably and hanging his keys up once more, Hank was able to notice the third Very Off Thing: the fact that Connor was asleep on his couch. It was late, and Hank didn’t want to disturb him, so Hank decided to go straight to bed and just see how Connor was feeling in the morning.

 

Technically, 2:30 a.m. was morning, right?

Connor woke up to a stabbing sensation behind his right eye. It radiated through his LED and down his neck, and the pain was breathtaking in its sheer intensity. He pressed a palm firmly to his eye but it didn’t relieve the pressure. He couldn’t see--what he thought was just a dark room turned out to be large, grainy, black spots overtaking a little under half of his vision, and he couldn’t think straight. 

His internal clock said it was very late, but that couldn’t be right, could it? He didn’t feel like he’d been home from work for very long, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what time he’d left or even how he’d gotten home. He couldn’t go to Cyberlife, not after what had happened at Kamski’s place; it wasn’t safe there. But he didn’t quite have other options, either. He wanted Hank. Where was Hank? Probably sleeping, probably thinking about his own life tragedies that Connor could never understand and his own complex emotions that Connor could never relate to and his own coping mechanisms that Connor could never change. Even if Hank would tell him it was the most underwhelming thing in the world, Hank was out being alive, and the last thing he probably wanted to do tonight was come find out why his android partner was malfunctioning. 

It wasn’t his job, anyway. 

Connor needed ice. Ice would soothe his head. His apartment didn’t have a freezer--he had no reason for one. But there was probably still ice outside. Hank and some of the other detectives had been talking favorably about the weather recently, but if the deep, aching chill that Connor felt in his joints right now was any indication, the temperature had likely dropped again. Maybe he’d get lucky and find an icicle he could press against his eye, or maybe to lobotomize himself with to stop the throbbing pain, he hadn’t really decided yet. 

He stood up to get to the door and within seconds remembered that this was not, in fact, his apartment. 

Connor’s foot hooked one leg of the coffee table and sent him crashing down to the floor. The jolt of hitting the ground made the pain in his head escalate to a level he didn’t even know was possible. That was the trouble with deviancy. Each new pain was the worst pain he’d ever felt, and he had no way to know how bad it could get. He couldn’t restrain a yelp of pain and surprise when he hit the ground, and as soon as it moved past his lips, he heard the frantic scrambling of claws on linoleum. 

Sumo. 

In the dark, Connor could see his LED illuminate red as Sumo rushed in to try to lick his face. He knew he wasn’t in any danger, he knew that. But he was so cold and his head hurt and everything was so overwhelming that the dog being so close was the last thing he needed right now, and he kept him at arm’s length, using one hand to push the dog away and the other to protect his own face and eyes. 

This lasted all of ten seconds before someone flipped on the lights agonizingly, and Connor could practically feel the light searing his eyes. 

“What the fuck--Connor?” Hank asked, waking up fully somewhere about halfway through the sentence. “Sumo, heel,” Hank commanded, and Sumo sat, leaving both of Connor’s hands free to protect his eyes as he rolled away onto his other side to face the couch. 

Hank dropped to his knees beside Connor, his hands fluttering nervously over his shoulders as he decided whether or not he could touch him. 

“Connor?” Hank prompted, finally resting a hand on his shoulder. “Ah, fuck,” he breathed, “you’re really burnin’ up.” 

He froze, everything stilling except the shivering. “Hank?” Connor asked, finally, finally feeling like he knew where he was. 

“Yeah, it’s me, kid. Fuck, I knew I shoulda checked on you before I went to bed. Were you trying to get up to get me?” 

“No,” Connor admitted, “I… forgot I was even here; I wanted ice, and then--I tripped, and Sumo was there--did I push him too hard?”

Hank’s heart softened a bit. “Of course you didn’t, son. He’s a big idiot; he can handle a little rejection. Let’s get you back on the couch, huh?” 

Connor didn’t take his hands away from his eyes, and Hank didn’t make him. Once he was lying flat once more, he heard Hank step away for a few minutes, then the sound of running water, then Hank’s footsteps approaching again. 

“Here,” he said softly, draping a cool, damp washrag over Connor’s eyes. “Should help with the migraine.”

“How did you--”

“It’s pretty obvious, kid,” Hank said. “Don’t talk if it makes it worse, alright? Just go back to sleep. I already called a mechanic who’s not with Cyberlife. She’ll be here first thing tomorrow, but you gotta wait it out til then. Think you can handle that?”

Connor wasn’t so sure, but he didn’t exactly have another choice, so he nodded. 

“Atta boy,” Hank encouraged. “Meantime, I’ll be right here if you need me, okay? Don’t even try to get up again.”

Connor frowned. “You should be sleeping in bed,” Connor objected, ignoring the pain that accompanied talking. “It’s better for your back.”

Hank rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you let me worry about my back,” he said, “and you just focus on getting back to sleep.” 

Without the energy to do much else, Connor couldn’t help but agree. 


End file.
